


sip thy jasmines

by alykapedia



Series: an ever-fixed mark [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Intersex Omegas, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: “Did you know, my darling,” Viktor croons, stepping ever closer until he is pressed flush against Yuuri, until Yuuri can feel the promising swell of him, insistent upon the small of his back. “That whenever you lean forward, your nipples peek out just so and I have to restrain myself from putting my mouth on you?”(Or: An Exploration of a Facet of Omega Biology, by Lord Viktor Nikiforov.)





	sip thy jasmines

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up late with lactating omegas*
> 
> Okay, so a while ago, lazulisong wrote this rut fic and I was expressing my eternal sadness about the lack of heat-milk in it (which, prior to ANOTHER fic by lazulisong, was not a thing I ever thought myself being sad about), and basically, after a brief exchange, I somehow ended up writing this.
> 
> Thanks as always to my fellow filth aunt, forochel, who listened to me whine about the unsexiness of the word 'nipple', talked MORE lactation kink with me, and helped me with some sex(y) choreography *winks*
> 
> Usual stuff: did a quick read-through, hit me up for any glaring and terrible mistakes. Wasn't able to regency nitpick this as much, but hey, it's porn!

> _Come slowly, Eden!_  
>  _Lips unused to thee,_  
>  _Bashful, sip thy jasmines,_  
>  _As the fainting bee_  
>    
> 
> 
> \- Emily Dickinson, _Come slowly, Eden!_

 

 

It is, perhaps, exceedingly foolish of Yuuri to overlook the possibility of _this_ occurring. He is more than well aware of how amorous and demonstrative his lord husband can be, a fact that will never cease to thrill him to the very core. He is also quite cognisant of Viktor’s propensity to scent him even in the midst of society, utterly shameless in his affections, the scent of him shrouding Yuuri as effectively as any coat. Yuuri should have expected _this_ to happen, or at the very least, held some anticipation for it, especially when he had foregone his teas in preparation for his approaching heat, and the burn of preheat hums brightly in his veins without their dulling effect.

He’s read about _this_ , in the heavy tomes hidden deep in the dark corners of the shops at Soho he and Phichit used to sneak into, that spoke of omega bodies in confusing riddles, accompanied by images that had brought the most torrid flush upon his cheeks, and he has heard Minako speak of it in carefully curated tones during his lessons.

By _this_ , Yuuri refers to the worryingly increasing dampness that threatens to spill forth from his bosom.

With the bedroom door slamming shut behind him, Yuuri hastily reaches for the ties of his dress, fingers clumsy as they do so, and he almost wishes that he had not sent Kenjirou away to prepare a cool bath so that he may assist Yuuri with undressing. The thin muslin of the dress feels suffocating, the flimsy gauze of the fichu stifling and itchy against his skin that Yuuri is tempted to do away with undoing all the ties and just rip it all away, leave his skin bare so that he might be rid of the fever that threatens to swallow him entire.

He’s only managed to extract the fichu, which had been tucked into the low neckline of his frock to hide the way the tops of his nipples peek through, when the door opens to admit his husband. Immediately, Viktor’s scent of cool winter air and spice floods the room and it takes everything for Yuuri not to run towards him and be held, allow himself to be laid down on their bed so that Viktor might fill the aching and swollen heat between his thighs. A heat that Viktor has kindled with smouldering gazes and lingering touches throughout the day, so that anyone who saw, or heaven forbid, caught a whiff of their mingled scents, harbored not a single doubt as to what was going on.

A selfish and most terrible part of him revels in it, proud to be the one to steal Viktor away from the ton’s greedy clutches, but he hides it underneath a mask of reprobation as Viktor approaches.

“Are you all right, my darling?” Viktor asks, and the tone of his voice suggests that he knows exactly what he has done and is not the slightest bit remorseful for it. Yuuri has half a mind to send him away.

Yuuri huffs, making an attempt to step away from where Viktor has settled close, only to be pulled back against his husband’s firm chest with a tight grip about his waist, reminding him of what had occurred just a week earlier when he had done more than visit Viktor on the _Eros_ —Yuuri fears that he can never look at Mr. Popovich in the eye ever again after that little rendezvous.

“You have been insufferable,” Yuuri scolds even as he tilts his head, baring the long line of his neck for Viktor to do with as he pleases. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, Viktor’s lips quickly finds its home on his skin, mouthing wetly downwards until he reaches Yuuri’s mating gland, where the smooth skin is marred by their bond mark. The touch is as much a relief as it is torture; the damp heat of Viktor’s mouth assuages the insistent throb at the molten core of him, but makes his chest feel tight and heavy at the same time.

Viktor hums, hands inevitably finding their way to the ties of Yuuri’s dress, undoing them with an expertise borne of a countless number of ruined evening gowns and summer frocks, and not a few misunderstandings with Kenjirou, who had thought his services as Yuuri’s maid no longer wanted. “Have I?” Viktor asks before tugging at the dress until it crumples into a heap on the carpeted floor.

“You have been touching and scenting me all day.”

As if Viktor does not know what his touches do to Yuuri, as if Viktor cannot smell the thick scent of him—saccharine with a tinge of sharpness from the slick dripping from his cocklet and the heavy folds of his sex, coating the trembling insides of his thighs, and soaking through his stockings.

“But you smell so wonderful, sweetling,” Viktor says, as if this is reason enough to scandalize the entire beau monde, his hands once again encircling Yuuri’s waist. The squeeze that Viktor gives him is lost beneath the stiffness of the whalebone, but it makes Yuuri gasp all the same; it’s impossible not to, when Viktor’s hands proceed to drag up the length of the corset to frame his chest. “Did you know, my darling,” Viktor croons, stepping ever closer until he is pressed flush against Yuuri, until Yuuri can feel the promising swell of his cock, insistent upon the small of his back. “That whenever you lean forward, your nipples peek out just so and I have to restrain myself from putting my mouth on you?”

For the briefest of moments, Yuuri thinks that Viktor’s words, murmured wetly against the curve of his ear, will prove to be his undoing. His supposition, however, happens not; for it is not Viktor’s words that tear away at his already tenuous grasp on what little control he has left, but the brush of Viktor’s calloused fingers against the stiff and sensitive buds on his chest. The fleeting touch is electric, and Yuuri gasps, pulling away from Viktor’s hold as sensation blooms, warmth and pressure spreading like wildfire; makes his chest seize almost painfully as something wet and warm trickles out, and oh, _oh_ —

“Oh, God,” Yuuri gasps, entire form shuddering, and his arms come up to cover his chest as he whirls around, tears teasing at the edges of his eyes. That Viktor should see him like this, with what must be heat-milk leaking out of his swollen nipples, is mortifying, and Yuuri turns his gaze away; he wishes not to see the revulsion that must be on Viktor’s face, for he knows that he shan’t recover should he become privy to such a look from his lord husband.

But his efforts are quickly dashed when Viktor steps forward, hands gentle on his cheeks as they tilt his head up, until he has no other choice but to look upon Viktor’s astonished countenance. Viktor’s eyes are wide, his expressive mouth slack as if he knows not yet what to do with it, knows not what to say. It is a familiar sight, one that Yuuri has had the pleasure of seeing time and again, and he is quite suddenly reminded of how Viscount Giacometti had jested that Yuuri is perhaps the only one capable of rendering Viktor completely and utterly mute, how Viktor had laughed before pressing a soft smile against Yuuri’s temple, murmuring, “ _should I tell Chris that your beauty has not only rendered me mute but has also brought me to my knees, beloved?_ ”

It is with this memory flashing brightly in his mind’s eye that Yuuri allows his arms to fall, revealing the damp mess glistening on his chest. Viktor’s response is instantaneous: his scent thickens considerably, the dark of his pupils expands until they are blown wide, and a deep moan falls from his lips.

“Oh, darling, you’re lovely,” Viktor manages, voice raw. “The loveliest thing I have ever seen and beheld,” he continues fervently, with a reverence that makes the words sound like a benediction to Yuuri’s ears.

“Do you not think it strange?”

Yuuri finds himself asking still, because he thinks it most curious; he has had a fair number of heats since his presentation and not once has he produced milk. Even during the first real heat he’d shared with Viktor, the very first heat that Yuuri had enjoyed, milk had not spilled from his bosom, and he cannot help but wonder as to what has caused his body to undergo such a change.

“No,” Viktor denies most ardently. “Heavens no, my love. You undo me with everything that you are.”

Breath hitching in his throat, Yuuri reaches up to take hold of Viktor’s hands, pulling them away from his cheeks and directing them down towards his chest, beset with an uncharacteristic boldness. If the faint brush of Viktor’s fingertips earlier on his nipples had undone him, then Viktor’s hands cupping his throbbing breasts has him taking leave of his senses, has him pushing his chest urgently against Viktor’s hands, his throaty moan an entreaty.

“ _Blyad_ ,” Viktor bites out, and _oh_ , someday Yuuri will ask what that word means, but for now, he trembles and sobs as Viktor kneads at his chest. “ _Gospodi_ , my Yuuri, the things I want to do to you.”

There is no time to wonder, much less ask about the things that Viktor wants to do to him, not when his lord husband is leaning down, breath hot against the damp skin of his chest, and sucking a glistening bud into the cavern of his mouth.

Yuuri shrieks.

He’s only distantly aware of being led to sit at the foot of their bed, attention narrowed down to the hot, wet suction of Viktor’s mouth. It should feel wrong, Yuuri thinks, it should feel all sorts of depraved and improper, but all Yuuri really feels is the encompassing need to be taken and had like an animal. Surely Yuuri can entice Viktor to do so; he’d managed to do it without quite meaning to before, and Mari did always say that he can be rather tenacious when he sets his mind on something, although of course his sister never quite meant it in this manner.

“Vitya,” Yuuri gasps, once Viktor has moved on to suckle at his other breast, inching his way further inside the cradle of Yuuri’s thighs, knees dragging on the carpet. “ _Vitya_ ,” he repeats, this time in a reedy whine as a fresh stream of milk seeps out of his sore nipples from Viktor’s eager attentions.

Occupied still, Viktor offers no response but for a harsh suck coupled with an almost cruel twist to his other nipple that has Yuuri squeezing his eyes shut and mewling, cunt pulsing and clenching around nothing. His body feels ablaze, burning bright with pleasure—a heady rush of slick painting his already drenched sex. The chemise and petticoat are soaked, as are the bedclothes, and they will all have to be burned, along with the velvet ottoman that had met its unfortunate end after yesterday’s vigorous tryst.

“Oh, sweetling,” Viktor says, a deep rumble that reverberates through Yuuri’s chest to the very tips of his toes. Dazed and overwhelmed from his climax, Yuuri can do naught but let out tiny gasps and claw weakly at the wool of Viktor’s coat as Viktor slips a hand underneath the petticoat, trailing calloused fingers up his slick thighs, before finally sinking two fingers inside the clutching wet heat of him. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs wonderingly, curling his fingers and finding the sweet spot that makes stars burst behind Yuuri’s eyes.

Yuuri shudders, hips moving in minute circles in an attempt to get Viktor’s long fingers deeper. “I—you—you should—” he begins, only to lose his train of thought as Viktor starts to thrust his fingers—three, now—teasingly, tiny jerks that do nothing but leave Yuuri aching to have the gaping emptiness inside him filled.

“I should what?” Viktor asks, tone light as he leans down once more to lavish kisses upon Yuuri’s chest, tongue hot and rasping, chasing at the fluid beading on Yuuri’s nipples.

“ _Undress me._ ”

Just a year ago, Yuuri never would have dreamed of taking such a commanding tone to his lord husband—every instinct and every single lesson on propriety he’d had to learn warning against it—but the wet cotton of his chemise is becoming unbearable, his corset a merciless cage, and he has not the patience for Viktor’s teasing, not when Yuuri feels absolutely wretched with need and want, their combined scents swirling thickly in his lungs.

“But the corset gathers up your breasts so nicely, it would be such a shame to take it off.” Viktor intones, eyes dark with promise, fingers suddenly ceasing their maddening torture as his hands settle heavily on Yuuri’s lap. “This, however,” he continues, grabbing two fistfuls of the sodden petticoat clinging to Yuuri’s thighs, pulling them up and away. “We can definitely do without.”

And then Viktor is tearing through the cotton, ripping the petticoat in half and leaving Yuuri completely exposed; the tattered remains framing his ruddy cocklet and the pink glisten of his winking cunt.

A tense beat of silence passes, much like the pause after a grand salute, before Viktor surges up and tumbles them down onto the bed, a growl ripping out of his throat. It’s an animal sound, one that makes Yuuri want to thrash about in Viktor’s tight grip and run away so that Viktor will have no recourse but to give chase; to hunt Yuuri down so that he can mark him and claim him, breed him until Yuuri is leaking slick and Viktor’s seed, until his belly is ripe with child. It makes a familiar heat course through Yuuri’s veins, as if he’d been doused with flames and is burning now from the inside out, and it ought to be worrying—his heat isn’t supposed to arrive until the sennight ends—but he finds himself no longer capable of caring, not when Viktor is pulling him to his lap and pressing in, the thick swell of his cock stretching the soft, sensitive walls of Yuuri’s cunt, filling him fit to bursting.

“You take me so beautifully.” Viktor praises, stilling for half a breath before he’s snapping his hips, immediately setting up a punishing pace that drives Yuuri into even wilder abandon, head thrown back and hands scrabbling frantically at the bedclothes.

Yuuri feels completely undone, as if he’s drowning in Viktor’ scent, the taste of Viktor’s mouth, and the feeling of Viktor’s cock dragging deliciously against his insides, the fat, bulbous head pressing into the spot inside him that has him moaning with every frenzied thrust. It’s as if he’s a throbbing mass of sensation, teetering on the edge of completion as his pleasure crests to unimaginable heights—

—only for Viktor to stop, much to Yuuri’s confused distress.

“V-Vitya?” Yuuri asks, blinking up at Viktor through damp lashes.

Viktor merely smiles, coaxing Yuuri to wrap his arms around his neck. “Hold on to me, my darling,” he croons, and before Yuuri can give voice to the question forming on his tongue, Viktor is shifting, muscles flexing under Yuuri’s arms and thighs, and—pulling, hefting Yuuri to sit on his lap, shocking a shriek out of Yuuri’s gaping mouth. “There we are,” Viktor says, tone dripping with satisfaction as he presses a filthy kiss to Yuuri’s nipple, hips rocking anew.

“Oh, oh _,_ _oh_ , _God_ —” The new angle allows Viktor to sink in impossibly deeper; each sinuous roll of his hips bouncing Yuuri on his cock so that every jolt is a starburst of pleasure that sparks up Yuuri’s tender cunt. He’s helpless to the push and pull of it, the stiff whalebone restricting his movements, leaving him at the mercy of Viktor’s hands—tight around his hips, holding him up effortlessly—and it makes Yuuri quake, thighs squeezing around Viktor’s waist, desperately chasing after his peak. “Vity _ah_ — _please,_ I need—”

Yuuri needs not complete his plea, for Viktor is already closing his lips around the bright red bud of his nipple, gentle as he coaxes milk out of Yuuri, a stark contrast to the savagery of his thrusts. “My Yuuri,” Viktor croons, and Yuuri can only grasp tightly at Viktor’s shoulders, mouth lolling open in a silent scream when his chest seizes up, milk leaking from his nipples once more. It’s not the only thing he’s leaking as the intimate union of their bodies abruptly become slicker. “Oh, love, you’re so good,” Viktor is panting, driving his cock into Yuuri’s still pulsing cunt, desperate for his own release. “So good for me.”

It is only when Viktor comes, soaking Yuuri’s fluttering insides with his seed that Yuuri finally allows himself to sink down into the sludge of pleasure stealing into his mind, gives himself entirely to the flames licking up his skin, a contented sigh falling from his lips.

 

.

 

Yuuri is burning.

Viktor curses vehemently under his breath, a moment of blind panic stealing over him when he realizes what it means—an early heat that Viktor himself has unthinkingly brought about. It clears away the cloud of arousal that has been plaguing him for the better part of the day and he recognizes the way Yuuri’s scent has become utterly overwhelming, threatening to bring him further under its thrall. He’s only glad that he at least had the wherewithal to refrain from knotting his beautiful darling, knowing that if he had, then they surely would’ve spent Yuuri’s heat right then and there at their townhouse, no doubt scandalizing their neighbours and the entire ton yet again.

As it stands, Viktor thinks that he has enough time to make arrangements and have them brought to their country home, down to the small cottage where they’d spent Yuuri’s last heat and his rut together. He will have to do all he can to delay Yuuri’s heat as much as possible, and the first step in doing so is freeing Yuuri from the rest of his layers.

Shifting to his knees, Viktor carefully tips Yuuri back to their rumpled bed, earning himself a whine that quickly turns into a hiss when he slips out, and Viktor finds himself echoing the sentiment when his gaze falls upon the mess that he’d made out of Yuuri’s lovely cunt. It’s a deep red color now, shiny with slick and drooling with Viktor’s seed, and it’s all he can do not to bury his face between Yuuri’s thighs and lick his own release out of Yuuri, so that he might fill him up again and again until it takes.

“Hush, darling,” Viktor murmurs, rolling down Yuuri’s soiled stockings before taking a knife to the corset and the chemise underneath it. Yuuri will no doubt be upset about them once he is lucid enough, but time is of the essence, and Viktor will buy him more dresses besides. He’s only tucked himself back inside his breeches when Yuuri shifts, one hand coming down to cup his cocklet while the other spreads the slick folds of his cunt, and this time, Viktor curses aloud, having to force his eyes away, only to be met with Yuuri licking his lips and peering up at him hungrily with hooded eyes.

“Vitya, come back. I need you back inside me.” Yuuri calls, a siren song that Viktor is a slave to, and it takes everything for Viktor to resist, lying down instead on his side and drawing Yuuri into a chaste kiss. It’s a small miracle that Viktor remains tethered to his control, especially when the now familiar scent of Yuuri’s milk—for Yuuri truly is producing milk, his body ready and ripe for a child that Viktor wants nothing more than to put in his belly—reaches his nose.

Viktor groans, keeping his hands on Yuuri’s cheeks. “I will, I will, love,” he promises, pressing the words against the sweet curve of Yuuri’s lips, “I just need to do something first. I’ll be just a tick and then I’ll come back and I’ll do everything you want, my darling.”

Yuuri shivers, chasing after Viktor’s lips when he pulls away for a breath. “Everything?”

“Everything and more.”

Viktor presses a few more kisses to Yuuri’s sweet mouth, unable to part with just one stinging on his lips, before he levers himself off the bed and makes for the door, practically running out of their rooms and into the empty corridor, where Altin is waiting, almost as if he’d anticipated Viktor’s arrival, an inscrutable expression painted on his face.

“Mr. Altin, have a carriage prepared immediately.”

“The carriage is waiting, my lord,” Altin is saying and Viktor startles, looking upon Altin in surprise. “And you will find your bags already packed and loaded. I’ve also sent word to Mrs. Butters letting her know that you and Mr. Nikiforov shall be heading to the cottage earlier than expected.”

The best way to deal with Altin’s eerie perceptiveness, Viktor has learned over many a year of having the young man as his valet and recently as his steward, is to accept it as fact, and he does so now. “Thank you, Mr. Altin.”

With the arrangements taken care of, Viktor hurries back to their bedroom, where he finds Yuuri sitting on their bed, blinking up at him with clear eyes as he wipes himself down with a washcloth. He allows himself a few seconds to admire Yuuri’s form, before he’s striding towards the ornate armoire standing stalwart at the far corner and throwing its doors open and rifling through his small collection of coats.

Viktor has just caught sight of his haori, a gift from Mrs. Katsuki, when Yuuri speaks.

“My heat’s arrived.”

“Yes, it has,” Viktor replies cautiously as he heads back to their bed, throwing the haori over Yuuri’s bare shoulders and watching as Yuuri slips his arms into the sleeves.

Lips twisting into a moue, Yuuri says, “It’s your fault. It wasn’t supposed to be this early.”

“And I shall take full responsibility.” Viktor will do so and more, and he reaches over to secure the haori around Yuuri, making sure to cover every tempting inch of skin, before lifting him up and into his arms. “A carriage is already waiting downstairs to take us to the cottage.”

“Where will Yura be staying?”

Viktor has absolutely no idea, nor does he particularly care where Yura stays, but Yuuri does and Viktor is loath to upset him.

"He'll be staying with Lilia.”

Yuuri hums, finally settling his head on Viktor’s shoulder, mouth tantalizingly close to his mating gland.

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you think that poor Mr. Altin should get a raise HAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Anyway!! It's done and I can now work on other things!! Like the next chapter for the main story ohmygod hahaha
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it from [here](http://alykapediaaa.tumblr.com/post/166641322456/sip-thy-jasmines-alykapedia-yuri-on-ice)! Thank you <3


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